


Black And Blue And Red All Over

by jedusaur



Category: Bandom
Genre: Bruises, M/M, Masochism, No Safeword, blunt-force masochism, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 12:04:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedusaur/pseuds/jedusaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the morning, before anyone has had any coffee, Mikey mumbles, "So okay, I like getting the shit beaten out of me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black And Blue And Red All Over

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: blunt-force masochism, bruise play, scening without a safeword, unprotected sex. Thanks to [](http://verbyna.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://verbyna.livejournal.com/)**verbyna** , whose chat window is apparently necessary for me to write these days.

It takes Frank five months of living with Mikey, fucking him once in a while and attending local shows with him almost every weekend, to realize why he loves the pit so much. In Frank's defense, he's usually in the pit himself, too busy flailing with intent to pay attention to what anyone else is up to. He usually sees Mikey now and then out of the corner of his eye, but as long as he's not being trampled or otherwise in trouble, Frank has no reason to examine more closely.

But one night he's really tired, just not feeling it, and he stays at the fringes of the crowd. He watches Mikey--whatever glimpses he can catch, anyway. It's dark and there are a lot of people, but he knows Mikey's edges pretty well. He can spot a familiar shoulder or a leg amid the masses once in a while. He's never really focused on Mikey while they're in the crowd before, aside from keeping track of his general location, but now he notices that Mikey's not really... moshing back. He's letting the swarm of people move him, taking sharp jabs and blunt blows passively. It's weird and unsettling for Frank, who thinks of moshing as a very active pastime.

Halfway through the headliners' set, Mikey shows up next to him and says, "I think that wall is solid. Pretty sure it'll stay up without your help."

Frank shrugs. "Not really in the mood," he says. Mikey doesn't argue, but he looks disappointed as he heads back out. Frank will never admit it to anyone, but that expression always makes him feel like he's just gone back on a promise to a kid. He groans, normal volume but inaudible over the music, and trots off into the crowd.

Mikey grins when he sees him and shoves his entire body forward, like he's a bowling ball gunning for a strike. Normally Frank would bounce off and come right back elbows-first, but this time he holds back a little, curious. Sure enough, Mikey doesn't take the initiative, just spins off to crash into somebody else's sharp corners.

At home, as they're peeling off their sweat-soaked socks in the living room, Frank asks him about it. Mikey takes an oddly even breath and says, "Whatever, it's a show. I get so caught up in the moment I don't even know what my body's doing half the time."

"Really," says Frank, and takes off his pants. He can't see Mikey's face as he walks into the bathroom, but he's pretty sure it's pointed toward his ass. He doesn't lock the door.

Mikey slips into the shower while Frank is shampooing his hair. Frank lets him stand there, waiting, while he finishes lathering and rinsing. Mikey's glasses are off, which means he can't see much through the steam. Frank takes his hand and pulls him under the spray, careless of the water getting in Mikey's eyes, blurring his vision even more. He doesn't have to be able to see for this.

Frank pushes Mikey up against the tiled wall, reaching for the expensive organic yuppie bodywash Gerard bought him for his last birthday because Gerard is a sarcastic asshole sometimes. It's obnoxious and it makes Frank smell like lingonberries or some shit, but it doesn't sting like most soap does. He lubes Mikey up, careful not to stretch him too fast even when he tries to squirm back against Frank's fingers. Right as Frank is about to press his cock in, he spots the swollen beginnings of a bruise on Mikey's hip.

"Damn," he murmurs into Mikey's ear, gently rubbing the skin around the swelling. "That's gonna turn some pretty colors in a few days."

Mikey lets out a moan so loud it echoes in the bathroom and thrusts his hips backward hard enough to jam the head of Frank's cock inside him. Frank gasps, not expecting a reaction like that. "Fucking _fuck_ me," demands Mikey, grabbing Frank's hand and pressing it up against the burgeoning bruise. Frank squeezes Mikey's un-injured hip with his other hand and pounds in, pulling Mikey back to meet him. He can feel the puffy flesh under his fingers and tries to shift his grip so he's not digging directly into the tender skin, but Mikey won't let his hand budge.

Frank doesn't last long. He pulls out after he comes, replacing his cock with his fingers again, fucking Mikey with his come. He pinches the bruised area a little, just testing, and Mikey surprises the hell out of him by losing it all over the tiles without a hand on his cock.

***

In the morning, before anyone has had any coffee, Mikey mumbles, "So okay, I like getting the shit beaten out of me."

Frank's brain isn't done booting up yet. He pushes a button on the coffee machine. It's the wrong one. He always pushes the wrong button first before pushing the right one, even though there's only two fucking buttons on the contraption in the first place. Every morning he thinks that he should go get a Post-It note or a Sharpie or something and mark the right button, and every morning he gets distracted by imminent coffee and forgets.

He doesn't answer Mikey. He's pretty sure Mikey's not done talking. Sometimes it takes him a while to get all his words out. Sure enough, once he hands over a steaming mug, Mikey says, "I'd like to get the shit beaten out of me sometime when we're not at a concert. If you'd be cool with that."

Frank sits down and takes a long sip of coffee before he answers. It clears his head a little. The caffeine can't have kicked in yet, but he's a big believer in using the placebo effect to his advantage. When he feels fit to make decisions, he says, "What exactly do you mean by that? Poking your bruises like last night?"

"I mean _leaving_ bruises," says Mikey.

Frank doesn't say anything else until he's done with his coffee. He's gonna need actual lucidity for this. Mikey is quiet too, but he's looking at Frank a little anxiously, and it's giving Frank that guilty feeling again.

The problem is that Frank pretty much just wants Mikey to be happy, and this is fucking with his head, because the kind of beating-up Mikey's asking for is something Frank does to people he wants to make unhappy. He's been in his fair share of street fights, he knows what it's like to throw a punch without pulling it, and the thought of Mikey on the other end of that makes his stomach tighten up.

"You're gonna have to be more specific," he says. "Like, really, really specific. I can't just fuck you up indiscriminately. Tell me what you want."

The tendons in Mikey's neck relax a little, like he thought Frank was going to just flat-out say no. "Direct body contact," he says. "No implements. Fists, elbows, knees. I guess aim for my limbs and ribs, avoid the squishy areas. Don't want to burst a kidney or whatever."

Frank snorts. Pretty much no part of Mikey could possibly be described as squishy. "Yeah, okay," he says. "We can give it a shot." He hesitates. "I might not be able to. I'll try, but I can't guarantee I won't wimp out."

Mikey smiles. "It's cool," he says. "I've never told anybody about that time you saw a daddy long-legs and screamed like a four-year-old. The secret of your true wimpitude is safe with me."

Frank kicks him under the table without even thinking about it. At the last possible instant before his foot slams into Mikey's shin, when he would normally ease up a little, something shifts in his head and he puts some extra force into it. Mikey's eyes flutter shut and he sucks in a deep breath. Frank slides his foot slowly down to Mikey's ankle and leaves it resting there gently until Mikey opens his eyes again.

"Yeah," he says quietly, and the little "no" squirming around in Frank's hindbrain starts to calm down.

***

Frank means to go for it soon, he really does, but life at home is full of cereal and TV and jam sessions, and kinky violent sex just doesn't seem to fit in. Even when they're making out and Frank knows, he _knows_ that Mikey's waiting for it, he just can't seem to make the leap.

On Friday, they go to another concert. Frank is thinking about the pit, about Mikey getting knocked around and loving it, wondering if he gets hard while it's happening, but he doesn't make the real connection until Mikey takes him by the hem of his shirt and steers him firmly into the middle of the crowd. Then Frank realizes, _oh, here's a place where it fits._ Mikey said he wanted to get beaten up outside of a concert sometime, but that doesn't mean he doesn't still want it here.

The opening band is kind of indie and doesn't really get the pit moving, but the guys they're here for are 'core enough to stir shit up. Frank lets Mikey drift for a while, but three songs in he tracks him down, makes direct eye contact, and slams his knuckles into Mikey's upper arm. He can't hear the breathy moan Mikey lets out, but he can see it. He can see Mikey bounce back and brace himself for the next blow, ignoring the other bodies banging around and into them, just waiting for him.

Frank hurls himself at Mikey, smashing his shoulder into Mikey's collarbone. Mikey leans into it, takes it and waits for more.

Frank grabs Mikey by the forearms and frog-marches him backwards out of the pit. In the dim light, he doesn't notice the railing at the edge of the floor until Mikey's ass hits it and he topples off-balance. Frank catches him by the waist, dragging him back up and colliding their mouths together in the process.

"Now," he says when he has his tongue back. "Let's fucking go."

This venue is only a few blocks away from their apartment, which is awesome because Frank doesn't want time to cool off. He doesn't even risk it, racing Mikey home, both of them laughing and panting and catching each other's eyes more and more often the closer they get to their front door. The second they're through it, Frank trips Mikey flat onto to the carpet, going down on top of him. He twists Mikey's arm behind him and pushes him onto his back, trapping it there and straddling him.

Mikey is definitely hard, and Frank is getting there fast. He slams his fist into Mikey's shoulder, the one that's not twisted, and Mikey makes the same high grunting noise he makes when he's getting fucked. Frank grinds down with his hips and punches Mikey again, and again, finding a rhythm like he does with his cock. Mikey looks happy like he's fucking high, taking everything Frank throws at him.

Frank tangles his fingers in Mikey's hair and pulls it back. Mikey's head moves easily, his chin jutting up into the air, and Frank kisses him with teeth. He's pretty sure that's when Mikey creams his pants, although he's a little distracted by creaming his own.

He rolls off Mikey onto his back on the carpet, chest heaving. Mikey gingerly untwists his arm and shakes it out a little. Frank stretches out his neck to smear his lips over Mikey's jawline. "You okay?"

"Yeah," says Mikey. He's still breathing hard, too. "Fucking awesome. Thanks."

"Don't fucking 'thanks' me," says Frank. He points to the stain on his crotch. "That right there, the semen? That means we're square."

Mikey snorts. Frank can see redness on his arm. He touches it, hiking up Mikey's sleeve a little to see better. He swallows the urge to apologize, because that's as ridiculous as Mikey thanking him. Then, carefully and tentatively, he examines the other urge he's feeling. The one that's telling him to strip Mikey down and find all the marks so he can prod them one by one until Mikey comes again.

It's an intimidating thing to want, but Frank isn't the sort of person who gets easily intimidated. "C'mon," he says to Mikey, and takes him to bed.


End file.
